


unruined

by starstrung



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, using your arcane familiar as a proxy for being touched
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 04:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19881397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung
Summary: Caleb feels, in his own body, a shiver go up his spine, as if Caduceus were saying those things tohimand not to Frumpkin.





	unruined

Caleb is halfway through one of the books that Essek lent him when Caduceus comes into the study. 

His face and hair are slightly wet, and he looks like he just finished shaving the side of his head and trimming his beard. He smiles at Caleb as he comes in, stooping a little to get in through the doorway. His armor is gone, and in its place he wears a loose roughspun shirt that looks like he’s been patching it up himself.

“Hullo Mister Caleb,” Caduceus says, looking down at Caleb where he is sitting at the desk, which is strewn with his notes. “At your studies tonight?”

Caleb nods. “This is the first night in a long time that we are not getting out of danger by the skin of our teeth. I might not get this opportunity for a while.” He lets out a breath and tilts his head back. His neck cracks audibly, and he winces a little, rolling his shoulders a little to work out the stiffness. Frumpkin, who is curled around his neck, makes an offended _mrp_ noise.

“Anything interesting?” Caduceus asks. 

Caleb shrugs. “Not unless you consider the magical energy potential of various gemstones and rare minerals to be interesting.” He gestures to one of the pages of his books, a dense passage of equations detailing the precise correlation between the thermal conductivity of a diamond and its ability to channel certain abjuration magics. He has already committed it to memory, even though he only understands about a fifth of it so far.

He’s not expecting Caduceus to come up from behind and rest his chin on the top of his head to read the passage. Caleb can feel Caduceus’s jaw moving slightly as he mouths the words to himself. He freezes, his leg beginning to cramp from how still he is keeping himself. Caduceus is warm from the bath, and smells like the soap that Jester just bought at the market — lavender and chamomile.

Finally, after a minute of silent reading, Caduceus draws away. Caleb lets out a breath.

“Yeah, that’s complicated all right,” Caduceus says agreeably.

Caleb can’t help but smile, a little rueful. “Not exactly a light read, I know,” he says. “Certainly not as enjoyable as one of Jester’s smut books.”

Caduceus nods. “Those are nice too. Although I’m guessing they don’t have much to say about doing fancy magic.”

“No, although I wouldn’t discount them. They can be quite informative,” Caleb says, dryly. Definitely informative enough to turn Fjord an interesting shade of green every time Jester reads aloud a passage.

Caduceus hums. “Mind if I sit here a while? I want to check on the garden, but I should dry myself up by the fire first.”

“Not at all,” Caleb says. “Truth be told, I wasn’t sure anyone was still awake.”

Caduceus folds into a sitting position by the fire, combing his fingers through his long, wet hair. It’s normally a pale pink, but now it’s a deeper magenta. “I couldn’t sleep, so I stayed up to meditate. That was good. Cleared my head. Gave me a lot to think about. Trouble is, now I have too much—” Caduceus seems unable to find the word, and frowns.

“Restless energy?” Caleb suggests.

Caduceus beams at him, as if Caleb has just done something wonderful. “Yes, exactly,” Caduceus says. “Restless, yeah. Figured a bath and some gardening would help.”

“I get restless too,” Caleb tells him, suddenly shy. “Studying helps, I suppose. Makes me feel like I’m at least not standing completely still.” He does not say that his restless energy probably comes from a very different place than Caduceus’s. Caduceus is restless because his goddess has important work for him to do. Caleb is restless because if he sat still enough to look too long at the scars on his arms, his mind would unravel at its seams once again.

“Well, that’s an odd thing to say when you have to sit in one place to study,” Caduceus says, tilting his head. A beat, and then his eyes crinkle up, making Caleb feel warm. “But I’ll shut up now, Mister Caleb, let you get back to work.”

Caleb blinks. Off-guard, Caduceus always catches him off-guard. Just a little bit distracted now, he turns back to his book, although he sends Frumpkin over to the fire to curl up in Caduceus’s lap.

“Oh, hello,” Caduceus says, soft. Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb sees Caduceus letting Frumpkin rub his entire head into Caduceus’s wide palm.

Taking a breath, Caleb focuses on copying out a complicated diagram. He will give Essek back his books tomorrow, and he wants to be sure that he’s gleaned all he can before he asks him for more. Essek has been generous with his personal collection — although Caleb still gets the sense that he is being tested, measured. He is still wary of whatever favor Essek will call upon him in return for access to knowledge.

To his right, Caduceus continues to pet Frumpkin, running a hand down Frumpkin’s spine so that Frumpkin can arch up into it. He’s saying something to Frumpkin under his breath, soft murmurs, but it is too quiet for Caleb to hear. Curious, Caleb closes his eyes, and lets himself peek through his familiar’s senses.

The first moment of looking through Frumpkin’s eyes is always a little disorienting. Frumpkin’s vision is very different from Caleb’s. Shadows seem to shift in interesting ways, and colors always feel a tad off. Caduceus is even larger from this vantage point, his smiling face looming in Frumpkin’s vision.

“Oh, look at you,” Caduceus is saying, and from here, his voice sounds like a gentle rumble. “What a beautiful boy.” His hand passes across Frumpkin’s vision as he continues to pet him. 

Caleb’s connection to Frumpkin only gives him access to his familiar’s sight and hearing, not touch. Still, Caleb imagines he can still feel _something_. A warm energy, a vibration of air, perhaps just an empathic response to seeing Caduceus cup his hand under Frumpkin’s head and scratch under his chin. 

“Oh, you’re lovely, aren’t you,” Caduceus murmurs, and Caleb feels, in his own body, a shiver go up his spine, as if Caduceus were saying those things to _him_ and not to Frumpkin. If he puts more concentration into this connection, perhaps he _could_ feel Caduceus’ hand petting down his spine. He forgets about his books, forgets about returning to his own body. 

“Good, that’s good,” Caduceus is saying, and Frumpkin pushes up into his hand again. In his own body, Caleb slumps over the desk, completely lost to it. Caduceus scratches gently at his ears, and even though Caleb can’t necessarily feel it, he can _hear_ it.

A minute goes by. Ten minutes more. Caduceus gathers Frumpkin in his arms and presses his lips to the top of Frumpkin’s head. “Does this help?” Caduceus asks, calm and measured and kind. “Does this help you, Mister Caleb?”

With that, Caleb is startled out of Frumpkin, his concentration breaking so thoroughly that Frumpkin dematerializes. He comes back to his own body with a gasp, wheeling around in his chair to face Caduceus. 

“Hey, hey, it’s all right. Didn’t mean to surprise you like that,” Caduceus says, getting to his feet. 

“I— how did you know it was—” Caleb says, shame rising in the back of his throat like Caduceus just caught him doing something inappropriate, something _depraved_. What is wrong with him that he would take advantage of such a thing?

“I had a feeling, is all,” Caduceus says. He doesn’t seem angry, or repulsed. Caduceus comes closer to Caleb, and it’s strange to see him at this scale again after so long in Frumpkin’s form. “If it helps you, if it comforts you, I don’t mind it.” Caduceus is earnest now, or as earnest as he ever gets. Caleb can tell when he feels strongly about something because he holds Caleb’s gaze, doesn’t look away.

“It shouldn’t comfort me, though, should it?” Caleb says, looking down at his hands. “I should be able to — to reach out, to touch someone with my own hands. Doing it through my familiar seems, well, inefficient at best. Unnatural at worst.”

“Not unnatural,” Caduceus say. He kneels in front of Caleb, still tall enough that Caleb is nearly at eye level. Caleb lets Caduceus take his hand in his. “It’s hard to start that connection with someone. Even if it’s something we need, it’s not something that’s easy to ask for.”

“What about you?” Caleb asks, uncomfortable with this attention, this proximity. “You seem to have no trouble with it.”

“Oh, Mister Caleb,” Caduceus says, and he looks rueful, a little sad. “I find it just as hard as anyone to ask for help when I’m hurting.”

Caleb nods. It’s a surprise, even though it shouldn’t be. Caduceus always seems like he long ago achieved some untouchable inner tranquility that none of the rest of them have. It’s a shock to learn that this isn’t true.

“Does it help you too?” Caleb asks, looking at their joined hands.

“Of course it does,” Caduceus says, and moves away, sits back down at the fire. “I have a few more tangles to get out of my hair before I go up to the garden, I think,” he says, smiling. It is an invitation.

Caleb takes a breath, and then materializes Frumpkin, has him sit at Caduceus’ knee. Caleb closes his own eyes, and opens Frumpkin’s. 

“Hey there.” There Caduceus is, smiling down at him with such warmth that Caleb would never be able to look at it directly in his own body. Frumpkin has no such quarrel with it, of course. He yawns, rubs against Caduceus’ leg, and then curls up in his lap.

“There you go, that’s better.” Caduceus pets the top of Frumpkin’s head, and the long length of his spine, and Caleb lets himself imagine, for the next few minutes, that Caduceus is running his hands through _his_ hair, that he’s stroking down the back of _his_ neck. That Caleb is worth this.

  


Essek appears surprised when Caleb shows up at his door with his books.

“Already?” Essek says. “I expected it would take a few more days before you were satisfied with these.”

“I’m a fast reader,” Caleb says, shrugging.

Essek looks at Caleb a little closer. “And not a very good sleeper, I see. There are very impressive circles under your eyes.”

Caleb ducks his head, embarrassed. “I got caught up in my studies I suppose.” It’s half true. Caleb spent a long time thinking about Caduceus’ hands on him ( _on Frumpkin_ , he corrects), and had read into the early hours of the morning to forget.

Essek seems to find this amusing, but he moves aside to let Caleb in. 

When Caleb first saw Essek’s apartments, he was surprised that someone so high up in the Dynasty’s esteem wouldn’t have more opulent housing, perhaps further from the noisy interior of the city. Essek’s apartments aren’t simple, by any means, but they’re closer to what Caleb would expect from a diplomat, not one of the Bright Queen’s most trusted advisors.

The real wealth, of course, is in Essek’s personal collection of books. Caleb has still not been allowed any real access to the city’s library, but Essek has offered him some few choice books of his own, and Caleb agreed immediately.

“What did you think of these?” Essek asks, taking the books from Caleb. He makes a quick motion with his long fingers, and the books each float off to their designated locations on the shelves.

“Oh, very enlightening,” Caleb says, his eyes already busy scanning the shelves for something he could read next. “I particularly enjoyed the treatise on the substitution of certain organic material components with inorganic.” He finds a title that looks promising, pertaining to the bending of time magics, and hooks a finger into its spine to pull it out.

Essek tuts at him and takes Caleb’s hand by the wrist to stop him. “You know our arrangement, Caleb,” he chides, and Caleb flushes, pulling away. “You may only have the books that I deem appropriate for you.”

“So far you’ve given me nothing on dunamancy,” Caleb points out. “When I entered into this arrangement, I was under the impression that I’d finally be allowed access to those texts.”

Essek smirks. He floats a little higher in the air, so as to pluck books off of the higher shelf without having to strain himself or wrinkle his clothing. “Greed for knowledge, as always, is a mark of your former allies, Caleb. If you’ve truly left the Empire behind, then you must leave that behind as well. This _arrangement_ , after all, rests entirely upon my own generosity.”

Caleb hears the clear warning in that, and backtracks. It won’t accomplish anything if he oversteps his bounds and Essek stops lending him books as a result. Right now, Essek thinks he is worth the trouble. He cannot lose that.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says. “I’m just — naturally curious, is all.”

“So am I,” Essek says, and looks down at him appraisingly. “There is something you could give me, I suppose, that I might take into consideration when I choose your next selection of books.”

“And what would that be?” Caleb asks. He expected this, and it has come. Essek has every right to ask a favor of him in return for all he has provided for Caleb. He has wondered what Essek will ask of him. Sometimes he feels Essek’s eyes on him, as if considering him, feels his gaze at the back of his neck when he’s copying down a passage from his books.

“You mentioned that you knew of the Scourgers,” Essek says, and Caleb’s heart sinks immediately. “I’d be curious to learn more of your connection with them.”

Before Caleb speaks, he makes sure that his voice is level, calm. He must not give anything away, not until it is most to his advantage. “I can’t promise you that it will be useful information,” he says, and is proud that he manages to sound nonchalant. “And it doesn’t make for a very good telling either.”

“Well now you’ve really piqued my interest,” Essek says. He smiles to himself, takes two additional books off his shelves, and floats back down. 

“Here,” Essek says, showing Caleb the two books. One is a text on the physics of shapechanging, of the creation and dissolution of matter during a polymorphism. The other, Caleb nearly reaches for it on impulse, is a thin volume on known calamities that have disrupted the streams of time.

As if to tease, Essek snatches both books away, and tucks them into his robe. “Let us strike a deal then, my little Empire mage,” he says, eyes glittering. “You may have the book on shapechanging regardless. But I will give you the other if you answer my questions.”

Caleb weighs these options. He is loathe to give away too much information to Essek. But he at least trusts him to hold his end of the bargain. He also doesn’t think that he will get in trouble if the Dynasty knows of his connection to the Scourgers — he is sure that they already suspect his involvement, and just require the specifics of it. 

“And after I tell you,” Caleb says, carefully, “I’ll still be able to borrow from you? Perhaps a book or two of my choosing?” He looks meaningfully at the book that Essek prevented him from looking at before.

Essek smiles a little too widely for comfort, like he knows exactly how well Caleb has been lured. “It’s not out of the question,” he says, and that possibility is enough.

Caleb raises his chin. “I’ll answer your questions.”

Perhaps sensing that Caleb might need the encouragement, Essek sits him down and pours him a drink. Caleb drinks it a little too quickly, and his eyes water. Only raising his brows a little, Essek pours him another. This time Caleb nurses it, having learned his lesson.

“You knew them, then,” Essek prompts.

Caleb smiles, knowing that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I knew them. I almost became one of them, I think. Although I suppose I will never know for sure.”

Essek leans forward, and the blue of the room’s arcane light globes casts his face in sharp shadow. “Tell me,” he commands.

Caleb does. He tells Essek about discovering his magic, about his training. He tells him about Trent Ikithon, and then it is like the words are pulled from him without his bidding, even though Caleb is fully in control. He _knows_ what it is like to lose control of his actions, of his own body. He knows this by now, doesn’t he?

Or perhaps he’s always meant to be this — a man easily swayed, a fool to be tricked.

Caleb doesn’t say all of it. He doesn’t say that he killed his parents, just tells Essek that he was manipulated into killing someone who should not have been killed, and at the end of it he was driven mad. Essek does not press him for details here, which Caleb is grateful for. When it is done, Essek leans back in his seat, looking thoughtful.

“It is a shame that you can’t say more about their inner dealings, although what you’ve given me certainly says a lot about how they treat their own,” Essek says. “I’d be interested to hear about this Astrid, this Eodwulf.”

Caleb feels despair rising in him. When he speaks again, his voice feels rough, abused. If Essek asks him to speak of Astrid, Caleb will never find the strength for it. “Essek, with all due respect, I don’t think I can—.”

Essek interrupts him. “No, that wasn’t our deal, was it?” He smiles, indulgent, and takes out the two books. “Yours, as promised.”

Caleb takes them in his hands, and now that he has them, they don’t feel worth it. They don’t feel worth the torment that Caleb just relived, the information he just gave to someone who will use it as they see fit, without a care for the one who had to live through it. 

He tightens his grip on the books, and makes himself say, “Thank you.”

  
  


It’s impossible for Caleb to lose track of time. His ability is always there in the back of his head, keeping record of each passing minute. Even before, in the asylum, when he was drifting in and out of madness, he could always tell how much time he had lost. 

So he knows exactly how long he has been wandering the city, walking from one end to the other without truly seeing it. He walks to the embassy district to the markets to the library and then loops back around, and by the end of it the heels of his boots have begun to make blisters on his blisters, and he is weary enough that he’s begun slipping a little on the cobblestone.

Eventually, he makes himself turn back.

The rest of the group is asleep by the time Caleb gets in. He stumbles around in the dark trying to be as quiet as possible, and then three stubbed toes later, gives it up as a useless endeavor and decides to light a few light globes. He follows these lights to his room, weariness dragging at his limbs.

Caduceus pops his head out of the kitchen as he passes, and this startles Caleb so badly that he’s halfway through reaching for his material components pouch. He swears, and leans back heavily against the wall.

“Oh, Mister Caleb, you’re back,” Caduceus says, blinking at him. “Did I scare you?”

“Yes, you scared me!” Caleb whispers, agitated. “What are you doing in the dark? Why are you awake?” His heart feels like it’s hammering in his chest.

“Sorry about that,” Caduceus says, pleasantly. “Just making some tea. I have a candle lit in here, didn’t really feel like making a light spell for this or anything.”

“Tea,” says Caleb, a little hysterically. He finally catches his breath, although he still feels spooked. 

Caduceus smiles, and then he emerges from the kitchen holding a steaming cup. “Tea,” he says. “Got some lovely bloom on the hibiscus, thought I’d give it a taste. I’ve never had night-bloomed hibiscus tea before.”

It is impossible to not be charmed by Caduceus’ easy manner. “And how is it?” Caleb asks, trying not to smile.

Caduceus closes his eyes and breathes it in with a long inhale. Then he takes a careful sip. Finally, with what feels like a great amount of deliberation, Caduceus looks up and says, “It’s really nice.”

“Well, now you’ve really sold it,” Caleb says. “Do you mind if I try some?”

“Of course, let me pour you a cup,” Caduceus says, ducking back into the kitchen. Caleb shakes his head and follows him in, letting the globes of light trail in after him.

Caduceus pauses in rummaging through the cabinets for a clean cup. “Wait, Mister Caleb, have you eaten?”

Caleb considers lying. He thinks Essek might have given him some sweetmeats at some point. That was hours and hours ago. He shakes his head.

Caduceus frowns. “Well, that’s no good. You eat first, then you can try the tea.”

“I’m really not that hungry,” Caleb protests.

“Nott helped me make dinner tonight,” Caduceus says. He begins making a plate for Caleb. “I think you’ll really like it.”

Caleb tries to tell Caduceus that he’d really rather just have some tea and go to bed, but then Caduceus is putting the plate in his hand and looking at him expectantly, so Caleb has to at least take a bite.

“It is good,” Caleb says, eating slowly, and Caduceus looks pleased with this.

They stand on opposite sides of the room, Caduceus watching Caleb carefully to make sure he eats, Caleb wondering when Caduceus will get tired of being this _kind_ to him. Whether he can take advantage of it, perhaps, for just one night.

He puts his plate down, still half-eaten. Caduceus frowns a little in disapproval, but Caleb doesn’t give him a chance to say anything. He materializes Frumpkin, has him walk the length of the kitchen and jump gracefully into Caduceus’s arms.

“Oh,” Caduceus says, arranges Frumpkin so that his head nestles in the crook of his elbow. He looks up at Caleb, and there’s knowing in that look, understanding. “Do you want to come up to the garden for this?” he asks.

Caleb meets his gaze deliberately. “I think your room would be better.” And Caduceus nods.

  


Caduceus’s room is an odd place, even considering how odd its occupant is. Caduceus has filled it with strange tokens from their travels, strange rocks, interesting pieces of wood, the glittering blue-green shell of a huge beetle. In a glass box, there are the remains of a bird, thousands of tiny bugs eating their way through the flesh, uncovering clean white bone underneath.

Frumpkin leaps out of Caduceus’ arms and sprawls out on the bed, belly up.

Caduceus laughs. “I guess I wasn’t moving fast enough.”

Caleb turns red. “I didn’t — Frumpkin did that on his own. Sometimes he does things I don’t tell him to do. I think it is his nature as a fey creature.”

Caduceus looks thoughtful, even as he sits on the bed and runs his fingers through Frumpkin’s belly fur. Caleb feels an odd sort of jealousy. “Is it him doing it on its own, do you think?” Caduceus asks. “Or is it maybe your subconscious wanting things you’re not ready to ask for?”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Caleb says. Even the thought of it is extremely worrying. The nature of his connection with Frumpkin has always been surprising in many ways. He doesn’t know if he likes that it would have access to the most hidden parts of himself.

“Well, you would know best,” Caduceus says, with far more faith than Caleb feels he deserves, looking up at him with a smile. “Whenever you’re ready, Mister Caleb.”

There’s only one chair in the room, so Caleb sits on this and lets his mind go blank, his sense of sight and hearing transferring to Frumpkin’s form. 

Caduceus pets Frumpkin’s belly, and smiles. “There you are. You know, your eyes change a little when you do that? It’s how I can tell.” He scratches beneath Frumpkin’s chin, and Frumpkin tilts his head so that Caduceus can get a better angle.

“I’m going to keep talking, if that’s okay. You don’t have to answer, of course,” Caduceus says. “I’m used to talking to myself. It’s how I made sure I still remembered all the stories. Although I suppose you’re here to listen, aren’t you? Wow, you sure are beautiful.” Caduceus seems to have found a spot behind Frumpkin’s ears that Frumpkin really enjoys — he is pushing his entire head into Caduceus’ touch. In his own body, Caleb tries not to squirm.

“Sometimes it’s good just to listen, isn’t it?” Caduceus says, his voice a pleasant rumble. It seems amplified when Caleb hears it in this body. “We’ve made a lot of big decisions lately. I’ve never had to make this many decisions. It used to be I could meditate for a week before fixing on any one thing, but that’s not how it works anymore. Not when people are counting on you. I’m sure you know that.” 

Caduceus’ hand slows a little, and through Frumpkin’s vision, Caleb sees Caduceus furrow his brow, look over to where Caleb sits. Frumpkin looks too, and it’s always so strange to see his body from outside of it. See his blank expression, the way his limbs have gone loose, tension bleeding out of his shoulders with every minute that has gone by. Essek, and all the things he said to Essek, they all seem distant. Just as distant as his own body feels right now, looking at it from across the room. 

It seems like someone else’s life.

“But it’s okay to want things, you know.” Caduceus continues. “I mean, look at Frumpkin. He wants belly rubs. And he’s getting belly rubs.”

After so long in Frumpkin’s form, Caleb doesn’t feel entirely human, so it’s a surprise when he manages to speak. “The things I want, Caduceus, they’re not—” It is too strange a thing to feel himself talking and yet hear it happen from across the room. He tries again. “I wouldn’t ask them of you.” 

“Well, that’s presuming I wouldn’t want to give them to you,” Caduceus says.

Here, Caleb opens his own eyes again, letting Frumpkin pop out of existence. Caduceus is holding his gaze, level. There is a calm, solid weight to the way he regards Caleb, like he knows exactly what it is Caleb wants, and is just waiting for him to come claim it.

Caleb stands up, walks to the bed, and sits in Caduceus’s lap.

Caduceus gathers him up in his arms easily, as if Caleb really were cat shaped. He arranges Caleb more comfortably so that he sits astride Caduceus’ hips, his hands supporting Caleb at the small of his back.

“Hi,” Caduceus says, eyes crinkling in a smile. 

“Hi” Caleb echoes, and before he can lose his nerve, he slants his mouth over Caduceus’s.

One kiss, slow, testing. Caleb pulls away, and Caduceus still has his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open, looking as if he is concentrating very hard. Caleb kisses him again, hungrier, and now Caduceus makes an interested noise, licks into Caleb’s mouth as if to taste him. Caduceus puts a hand in Caleb’s hair, rubs a little at his scalp, and Caleb melts into it, leans heavier into Caduceus.

“Whatever you need, Mister Caleb, tell me,” Caduceus says, and takes Caleb’s face in his hands, even as he keeps kissing him, a certain greed to the way he sucks Caleb’s tongue into his mouth. His blunt fingernails scratch a little behind Caleb’s ears and Caleb shakes all over — he did not know it would feel like _this_. 

“Tears,” Caduceus says, his thumb catching the moisture beading down Caleb’s cheeks.

“It’s nothing,” Caleb says, closing his eyes. It is nothing. A reaction of his body that he hasn’t been able to master. One day he will master this too.

“It’s not nothing,” Caduceus says, gentle, and tilts his head to kiss Caleb’s wet cheeks like his tears are something to be blessed. Something holy.

It’s too much — Caleb turns his head away to hide his face, and instead Caduceus presses an open-mouthed wet kiss to his neck instead, right where the collar of his shirt begins to open. _Oh_ , Caleb thinks, and unbuttons his shirt without stopping to consider it.

Caduceus’s big hands pet through the coppery hair on his chest, over the soft of his belly, the trail of hair at his navel. “Oh, you’re lovely,” Caduceus says, one side of his mouth lifting up as he says it. He seems fascinated by the quiver of Caleb’s belly when one of his thumbs catches against a nipple.

Caleb huffs a laugh, embarrassed. “Lovely?” he says. “You must not have seen many men if you think that of me.”

“I haven’t. Not many alive ones at least,” Caduceus says.

“No lovely corpses then?” Caleb asks in a deadpan.

Caduceus brow wrinkles. “No,” he says, as if he’s confused at why Caleb would even _ask_.

“I’m teasing you, Caduceus,” Caleb says, and wonders why this is so _easy_. It’s so easy to be — the Caleb that he should have been before he was ruined. The Caleb that could smile without ghosts in his eyes. 

But then again, Caleb Widoghast isn’t even his real name, is it?

Caduceus blinks at him, and chuckles a little. “All right,” he says. “You are lovely though. Really. I don’t need to have seen a lovely corpse to tell you that. You smell—” and Caduceus nuzzles into Caleb’s throat and breathes in deeply like he’s savoring it, “—really nice.” Caduceus’s voice gets so low that Caleb can feel it rumbling through his _ribs_.

“Caduceus,” Caleb says, evenly. And then, not so evenly, “Please, I need you to — could you—” Oh, but if only Jester were here, she would know the words for what Caleb needs, for the desire that is clawing through his chest like it has been waiting for just this moment to destroy him.

He grasps wildly. “What you said about decisions. Before,” Caleb says. 

“Yeah?” Caduceus says, his face still buried in Caleb’s neck. He sounds distracted. 

“I have made too many of them lately. You’re right,” Caleb says, his voice sounding high and agitated. “I think I would like — to not make any more tonight. Could you do that for me?”

Caduceus pulls away, looks at Caleb for a long moment, until Caleb is afraid that Caduceus did not understand what he meant. “All right, then,” Caduceus says, and Caleb is so relieved that he has to close his eyes for a moment.

Caleb lets Caduceus undress him and lay him down on the mattress. Caduceus seems fascinated with Caleb’s thighs, with the bony jut of his hips, not hesitating to run his hands over the length of him, _petting_ him. Caleb feels drunk, possibly, keeps finding himself arching into Caduceus’s touch, chasing it.

Caduceus covers Caleb with his entire body so that Caleb can’t move, takes Caleb’s face in his hands. “I can’t _think_ when you’re doing that,” Caduceus says, and Caleb turns his entire face into Caduceus’s large hand, mirroring what Frumpkin did earlier when Caleb was seeing through his form.

“What do you need to think about,” Caleb says, panting. He can’t move under Caduceus’s heavy weight trapping him like this. Between them, his cock is growing hard, more insistent. He tilts his hips up and rubs up against Caduceus and the friction makes him gasp.

“I need to — I’ve never _done_ this,” Caduceus says. “I want to make sure that you’re all right, that you’re taken care of. I want to—”. He breathes out and fits his mouth over the sensitive part of Caleb’s jaw, and Caleb whines, can’t help the way his hips twitch in response.

“Yes,” he says, unsure of what he’s saying yes _to_ but certain of it all the same.

Caduceus moves down, biting at Caleb’s hip, at the inside of his thigh. He takes Caleb into his mouth briefly, as if to taste the moisture beading at the tip, and Caleb _whines_. Caduceus pulls off as if to watch, and when Caleb opens his eyes, Caduceus looks staggered, his mouth slightly open, his eyes dark.

“Are you still thinking about it?” Caleb asks. “Or have you made a decision?”

“There’s still one thing I want to try,” Caduceus says, like he's asking for permission.

He has the feeling that Caduceus will drive him mad by the end of this, and Caleb will just be here aching for it. “Of course,” he says agreeably.

He’s not expecting Caduceus to spread his thighs with his hands, bend his head, and lick _into him_.

He must shout, or make some noise, but Caduceus makes his own noise too, one of interest, a deep rumble that Caleb can feel now, because Caduceus’s _tongue_ is in his _ass_.

“Good?” Caduceus says, briefly, which Caleb thinks is unnecessary considering his dick has never been harder. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Caleb says, enthusiastically, and moves over onto his hands and knees so that Caduceus can keep working that broad tongue into him.

His arms give out at some point between one curl of Caduceus’s tongue inside of him and the next. He pants with wanton enjoyment into the mattress as Caduceus continues to stretch him open with his tongue, letting himself rut against the covers.

When he comes, it seems to draw up something out of him that Caleb didn’t even know he had, some animal part of him. He didn’t know his body was capable of this much _pleasure_. He turns to look up at the ceiling, feeling dazed, pulled apart.

“You’re smiling, Mister Caleb,” Caduceus says wonderingly, smiling down at him in turn. 

“I think it’s safe for you to just call me Caleb now,” he says. 

“All right. Caleb, then,” Caduceus says. He cups Caleb’s cheek, and Caleb nuzzles into his palm. He feels warm, safe, and it’s easy to smile up at Caduceus then, let that warmth break through whatever wall he put up around his vulnerabilities a long time ago.

He could be this. He could be unruined, he thinks. For one night, perhaps.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/star_strung).


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